


Clair(e)voyance 3.0

by notevenjokingfic



Series: Clair(e)voyance [3]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 14:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notevenjokingfic/pseuds/notevenjokingfic





	1. 3.1:  Again?

He felt her slow touch down his spine. 

“Again?” he mumbled, sleepily, “God, Woman, let me rest a bit, aye?”

“Ooooh, was I too rough on you the last time?” she whispered, running a hand over his hip and between his legs.

Jamie stopped her hand, gently removed it. 

“Oh,” he chuckled, “I’m fine wi’ a bit of rough, it’s just…that’s twice already…I feel dehydrated.”

She laughed at that. A full belly laugh in the night’s stillness. The sound sliced through the bedroom like moonlight piercing darkness. 

Luminescent. 

Celestial.

_Sorcha_. 

The key had changed everything. 

At first he was reluctant to use it. She gave of herself so cautiously that he didn’t want her to regret it. Didn’t want to come on too strong. Over time, it became easier. Natural. Expected. He started leaving a change of clothes. A toothbrush. Shaving kit. More clothes.

Now he had more of his stuff at her place than his own. 

And she didn’t seem to mind. 

It wasn’t easy earning Claire’s trust. There could be no secrets. No lies. No time for questions to form in her mind.

In the past six months their relationship had grown, flourished, became stronger. Claire had grown, flourished and became stronger. She was less anxious. Less guarded. A more confident lover. 

Sensual. 

Provocative. 

And every day he loved her more than he did the day before.

He rolled to his side gathering her close. She nestled against him, her perfect round arse wedged tight against his groin. Her breast resting heavy in his hand. He kissed her shoulder, tasting the saltiness of her skin. She was warm and supple and smelled like sex. Closing his eyes he balanced on the edge of sleep.

“Ye love me, aye?” he said, softly.

“You love me, too” he heard her say before he slipped into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Chief Inspector John Grey rose from his chair and quickly stepped around his desk.

“So good to see you, Sir. Welcome!” He offered a hand to the older man. 

The Deputy Commissioner was a man of wealth, privilege and influence. He was also Second in Command of the London Metropolitan Police. As a favour to John’s father, he had given his best friend’s son a glowing recommendation when he joined the Academy. Later, he helped John win promotion after promotion. 

He owed this man his career. And was never allowed to forget it.

John turned his attention to the young woman standing just behind her father. His eldest daughter was with him now. John had met her on various occasions and his opinion of her rarely changed. 

Proud. Privileged. Conceited. She was all feminine wiles and no warmth. Quite the opposite of her sister, actually. 

“Good to see you, as well,” John stretched out a hand to her. 

She took it with a forced smile. 

“Now, John,” the older man said sternly, “No Vice, and no Homicide. I won’t have my daughter working those cases, and not with those types of cops.”

“I understand, Sir,” John said, cutting a glance at the petite, dark haired woman. 

He smiled at her as warmly as he could. “I understand you are an expert in Identity Theft?” 

“Cyber Crime,” she replied, voice haughty. “Not just identity theft, but fraud of any kind. If it’s done on a computer, I can solve it.”

_How modest_, John thought. _ I can already tell she’ll be a pain in my arse. _

He turned his attention back to his boss. “Rest assured, Sir, I’ll have her assigned to the right department, working with the right people.”

They shook hands again, and the Deputy Commissioner departed without a look in his daughter’s direction. 

“Please, sit down,” John said, indicating a chair in front of his desk. “Let me just make a quick call and we’ll get you sorted in Cyber Crime.”

“I prefer something else,” she said, her large brown eyes pinned on him.

John offered a tight smile, “And I prefer to obey my superior.”

As he made the call she looked around the busy precinct. Officers were beginning to arrive. She could hear the faint hum of conversation, watched as men carried coffee mugs and files, checked cell phones, booted up computers. 

_Middle aged men. Sloppy. Shoddy. Tired. With bad suits and worse hair. Honestly, what was I thinking? Give me a computer, a nice office with some young, hot, twenty somethings like myself, and let me go to work. I thought I wanted something more exciting, but not if I have to spend time with these geriatrics._

And then the main door opened. 

“Who’s that?” she asked, sitting up straight. 

John looked through the glass that surrounded his office to the busy room of officers. It took him a moment to locate her target. 

His breath caught.

_No._

_No fucking way._

“It doesn’t matter. Whomever he is, he’s homicide.”

“I don’t care what Father says, that’s what I want,” she announced firmly. Then she shook her head slightly and said, “I mean, he looks like someone I could learn from. What’s his name?”

John grit his teeth so hard his jaw popped.

“I said, no, Geneva.”


	2. 3.2:  Geneva

It didn’t take her long to notice the code had been changed. The hacker had entered, redirected the transfer code, and Bingo! Money was pouring into various accounts. While it was clever, it wasn’t clever enough. It was a simple enough trace and she had her suspect. 

She reached over to grab the phone and alert her Superior. That’s when _he_ caught her eye. He was leaning over the shoulder of another officer, focusing on the computer screen.

She took a moment to look him over. Tall. Broad shouldered. Masculine. Handsome. 

Very handsome, if she was honest. There was an edge to him that attracted her. And he was clearly much older than her. The kind of age difference that would cause a scandal. 

She hung up the phone, gathered up her notes, and approached the two men.

“Can ye send me that footage, Geordie?” 

_Scottish? That would explain the red hair._

She cleared her throat. The two men glanced up.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she smiled and looked into sky blue eyes. They regarded her politely. 

She tore her gaze away and focused on the man at the computer. Geordie was the senior person in the Cyber Crime Unit. He was a nice enough man, if a bit brusque at times. He liked efficiency and a strong work ethic. “Um, I think I’ve found something and I wasn’t sure who to call?” 

“Let’s have a look,” he motioned for the file.

Geneva handed it to him, and waited. She smiled at the man again.

“We haven’t been introduced,” he said, reaching out his hand. “James Fraser. Homicide.”

She took his hand. It enveloped her own. Long fingers. Nice grip. 

“Geneva,” she said. “Geneva Dunsany.”

“Dunsany?” He raised an eyebrow. “As in, Deputy Commissioner William Dunsany?”

“Yes, but please don’t hold it against me,” she laughed. “I’m very good at what I do.”

“She is,” Geordie piped up. “This looks good. Solid lead. Go ahead and call the Chief Inspector.”

“Thank you.” She took back the file and turned to James once more. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Nice meeting you, too,” he muttered, his attention already back on Geordie’s computer screen.

* * *

Geneva sat cross legged on her sofa in her pyjamas, logged into the Police database. Within minutes she had his full name, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. From there it was a simple enough search for his address, date of birth, National Insurance Number, and salary. 

_Yikes. I couldn’t survive_, she thought. _Thank God we come from money. Now, just one more thing. _

A few more keystrokes and she had what she really wanted. 

_Marital Status. Single. _

* * *

She sat outside his building in her car. Waiting. All she wanted was to see which apartment was his. She would just watch which lights came on after he went inside. If nothing showed out front she’d take a quick jaunt into the alley and see if anything lit up on the backside of the building.

Hours later she was still waiting. There were no lights. And no sign of his car. Maybe he was on a stake out. Or working late. 

Geneva settled into her bucket seat and waited. She’d give it until 1:00 a.m. and then she was heading home.

The hammering of rain on her windshield woke her up at 3:00 a.m. with a brief moment of panic and a stiff neck. For a quick moment she’d forgotten where she was. Then she remembered. 

_Dammit._

If he’d come home, she would have missed him. So much for being a good detective if she couldn’t stay awake on surveillance. She looked up and down the street. The weather made it hard to search for any sign of his vehicle. 

There was nothing more to do. Turning over the engine she put her car in gear and slowly drove home.

At 3:00 a.m. while Geneva was driving, Detective Sergeant James Fraser was fast asleep in Dr. Claire Randall’s bed. 

The rain pelting against the window woke Claire up. It sounded like the big, fat drops were trying to break the glass. Every once in a while a wave of rain would hit, and then die off until another gust of wind pushed it up against the panes. 

It was weather like this that made her grateful for her warm home and even warmer partner. He took up a lot of room. She could disappear entirely behind his back and no one would even know she was there.

She pulled the covers up higher under her chin and he stirred. He rolled from his back to his side, facing her. Reaching out, he found her waist and gently tugged her forward. She slid over, and smiled as he moved his head back on the pillow. Never opening his eyes, still fast asleep, he made room for her and gathered her close. 

Legs tangled. 

She wrapped her hands around the bicep of his arm resting between them. His hand found the top of her thigh, and rested there. She kissed his jaw lightly and was rewarded with a tilt of his chin and a soft kiss on her lips. Then, his long straight nose rubbed against her forehead and he breathed in deeply. 

“’s raining,” he mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” she answered, as he pulled the covers up even more around them. And with another rub of his nose he was fast asleep again, breathing deeply and evenly. 

She listened to the rain for a while longer, and finally drifted off.

Neither dreamt of the storm that was to come.


	3. 3.3:  Watching Jamie Work

“We’ve got ye on the CCTV runnin’ the light,” Jamie turned the photo around to show the perpetrator. 

“Tha’s no’ me….” the man stammered. “Tha’s no’ me car….” 

Jamie sighed. He hated hit and runs. He hated drink drivers. Deaths from these incidents made him crazy. They were so senseless. 

He stood up and strode to the door of the interview room. Yanking it open he said to the officer stationed outside, “Get me Geordie.”

A moment later the officer came back. “Geordie’s not here, Sir.”

“_Ifrinn_.” Jamie thought for a moment. “Bring me the new girl…what’s her name…Dunsany.”

The officer walked away again.

“And tell her to bring her computer!” Jamie shouted after him.

Five minutes later a flustered Geneva came towards him. 

“You asked for me, James?”

Jamie frowned. “It’s Detective Sergeant, Ms. Dunsany, and aye, I need ye to work some tech magic and enhance this fool’s license plate.”

He stepped aside to let her into the room. Geneva had never been in a witness interview room. She sat primly in the chair Jamie had vacated, and pulled up the CCTV footage. Jamie watched as her fingers flew over the keys, enhancing, adjusting, switching between screens to get what she needed. Eventually she turned the screen towards Jamie and sat with her hands in her lap.

Jamie smiled, like a predator who’d just cornered his prey. 

Geneva’s breath hitched at the way his sky blue eyes turned dark and stormy. 

“See here?” He turned the screen to the reckless drunk. “That’s yer car, mate. That’s yer plate number. And that,” he pointed to the face in the windshield, “is yer face.”

She watched the sobered man start to crumble. His face contorted. His breath came fast. And then he was sobbing. 

Sobbing and confessing to what he had done. 

And James sat and let him talk with a look on his handsome face that was part disgust, and part smugness.

Geneva was oddly aroused by that look.

* * *

“Detective Sergeant Fraser.” He answered distractedly, cradling the phone between his shoulder and jaw.

“Bring home the handcuffs.”

“D’ye mean it? For real?” He sat up straight. The phone slipped and he fumbled for it. 

“No,” she giggled, “Those things hurt me last time.”

“Honestly, Claire, it’s a simple matter.” He dropped his voice. Spoke low and urgently. “I could go to the evidence room and get some of those soft ones confiscated from a vice raid. No problem at all.”

“Isn’t that frowned upon? Taking evidence?” He could hear the teasing in her tone. 

“Only if yer caught.” He waited. 

“Claire?” She didn’t respond. 

“It’s no’ funny to get a man’s hopes up like that.”

She laughed again, low and sexy. Then sighed heavily.

“Actually, I called to say I’ve only just got two bodies in here. It will be a late night, I’m afraid.”

Jamie sighed, too. “Aye. Okay. I’ll just go home to mine, then? See ye tomorrow?”

Silence. 

“Someone needs to feed Adso.” 

Claire realized it was still awkward sometimes. Jamie never presumed. And they’d never really talked about him moving in completely. Fact was, he was practically living with her. He just needed to get rid of his flat; most of his possessions were already tucked in with hers. 

“Right.” He made a Scottish noise of satisfaction deep in his throat. “See ye when ye get home.”

Claire smiled. “Yes. You will.”

Jamie hung up the phone slowly. _God, that woman could turn his insides out._

“Fancy a drink, James?”

He looked up to see John Grey standing by his desk, hands deep in his coat pockets. 

He knew how long it would take Claire at the Morgue. He could spare an hour or two.

“Aye. Why not?”

* * *

It had been a long day. Geneva prepared for her drive home. She checked her phone one last time before tossing it into her purse. 

Putting the car in gear she looked in her rearview mirror and spotted John and James. They stepped into the parking lot and headed to James’ vehicle. 

She waited. When she could, she put the car in Drive and followed discreetly.

She sat forward in her seat watching the black sedan maneuver itself through London’s streets whilst she tried to stay a respectable distance away from James’ car. When the two men finally parked and walked into a pub she sat back and texted her sister. 

_Meet me at the Marquis of Granby, near St. Thomas’ Hospital. We’re getting drinks. And if it all goes according to plan, I’m getting lucky._

* * *

It had been a long day. All she wanted was a shower, and food. 

And Jamie.

There was a small light left on for her in the foyer. She kicked off her shoes, shrugged off her coat, padded into the kitchen. Opening the fridge she grabbed a slice of cold pizza and headed upstairs. As she passed the hallway table she heard the tiny ping of a cell phone. 

Jamie had left his phone downstairs. She picked it up and glanced at it. And saw the notification.

She could barely swallow the morsel in her mouth. 

Her ribs felt tight.

She felt a frisson of fear down her spine. _It was Frank all over again. _ _God. No_. _ She would not survive losing Jamie. Frank was one thing. But Jamie? Her heart would not be able to take it. _

She took a deep, shaky breath. 

Then, another.

Gripping his phone tightly in her hand she turned on her heel, threw the food in the sink, and marched upstairs to her bedroom.

Jamie lay in bed, torso bare. Adso curled up beside him. 

He looked up as she stood in the doorway.

Smiled.

“Sorcha,” he said lovingly.

She loved that voice. That tone. 

She watched as his face transformed into one of concern. 

“What’s wrong?” he said, brow furrowed. 

She meant to casually toss it onto the bed. 

She meant to stay calm.

Instead she threw the phone so hard he had to put up his hands to protect his head.

“Who, the FUCK,” she said through gritted teeth, “is Geneva?”


	4. 3.4:  The Green Monster of Jealousy

The green monster of jealousy started to rise in her.

Nothing. She had achieved nothing. 

Her sister, Isobel, was not the party girl type and absolutely useless in helping her get James’ attention. She managed to talk to him a little bit, but James was more interested in the sport on the pub TV than he was in talking to her. 

Geneva snapped a picture with her phone. 

His car was most definitely parked around the back of this house. 

She needed to go home. She needed to check this address in the database.

She needed to know who the hell James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser was spending his nights with. 

* * *

“Geneva?” Confusion was evident in his voice. 

Claire watched his face carefully. She knew lying when she saw it. Had years of practice deciphering it.

“She’s the daughter of the Deputy Commissioner. He brought her to John. John assigned her to Cyber Crime.”

“Oh. I see.” She was trembling. 

With fear. With disappointment. 

With longing for what could have been. 

She always knew this day would come. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew, _knew _that she wouldn’t be able to keep a man like Jamie. She was too broken. 

He had no idea the hold he had on her. The _hope_ he inspired in her. 

Part of her just wanted to pretend she didn’t see what she saw, and crawl over to him on the bed. Another part desperately needed answers. 

All of her needed reassurance. 

“You had drinks with her tonight,” She was proud of herself. Her voice sounded almost normal.

“No. I had drinks wi’ John. She and her sister happened by. Why are ye asking?” He still didn’t get it.

“Because she texted you.” Claire took a calming breath. She sounded shrewish, even to her own ears. “So somewhere in the course of the evening you gave her your number.”

“I did not.” He annunciated over his accent, in order to be clear. He fumbled for his phone. Looked it over. “Nay, Claire. I never took her number, nor gave her mine. She must’ve done it while I was watching the telly.” 

Claire’s eyebrows rose. 

“The Pub telly,” he clarified. “I had no interest in their conversation. I finished my drink, left after an hour.”

She stared at him a moment longer. She would not stand still for lies.

“I’m taking a shower.” She headed into the ensuite. After a minute he heard the water run.

Claire let the hot spray beat against the back of her neck, erasing the tension.

The shower door slid open. 

She looked up at him. Watched the spray dampen his hair from red-gold to deep mahogany. Watched the droplets hit his wide shoulders and run down his chest.

She loved him. Desired him. Wanted him.

More than that, she wanted to trust him.

Jamie silently picked up the soap. Lathered his hands. Reached for her. He gently massaged her neck at the juncture of her shoulders. She closed her eyes. 

His thumbs slid under her chin. Gently forced her head back for a kiss. 

Their mouths joined in desperation. Him to prove that she was his one and only. Hers to show him what he meant to her. 

The water was making it hard to breathe but they would gladly drown if it was like this. 

Jamie broke the kiss, dragged his tongue down the side of her neck. 

His big hands cradled her face. Forced her to look up at him. 

“Claire. There is no one else.” His sky blue eyes pleaded with her whisky-coloured ones. To believe him. To see the truth. To feel it. 

He grabbed for her hand. 

She pulled it back.

“Stop it, Jamie!” she snapped, “I’m not a fucking lie detector! You know what a burden this is for me. You don’t get to use my abnormality to suit your needs.”

The shower rained down over them both.

“Look.” He drew the word out in desperation. “Let yerself go, and _look_!”

He took her hand again, and placed it over his heart. She did look then, only because she needed to know as well. 

_Accusations. Lies. Secrets. _

_They swirled around him. Dangerously so. _

“What do ye see?” he insisted. 

_Trouble_, she thought. _I see trouble. For you. For me. For us_. But she didn’t want to say that. In that moment she knew he loved her, that he was faithful to her. So, she answered with the barest hint of truth.

“I see us.” 

She leaned into him, then, and hugged him tight. Jamie groaned at the slippery feel of her against his body. The way her breasts slid against his chest. He felt her hand on him, and sucked in his breath. 

He needed to be inside her. 

He placed his hands on her hips. Spun her around.

Claire braced her hands on the shower door, forehead pressed against the glass. She could feel him hard behind her. Slowly, very slowly, one hand slid down her torso. Lower still, and she felt his fingers. 

Circling. Pulling. Flicking. Kneading. 

She could barely stand, the sensation was too much. Feeling his breath on her neck, she twisted around.

“You do love me,” she breathed. 

“Aye,” he said against her lips. “Ye know I do. And ye love me, too.” 

In one smooth motion he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her backwards on to his lap as he sat on the molded shower seat. Grabbing her hips he lifted her just a bit until he could sheath himself inside her. 

The water continued to pound. 

She felt so good. He ran his hands down her sides to cup her backside, then up her torso to cup a breast in each hand. He slid both hands down her again, found her centre with one hand and anchored her against his lap with the other. 

She leaned forward and he watched as the water ran in rivulets down her back and disappeared into his lap. She rode him in desperation, to completion. Only after she was sated, did he let himself go. 

Later, Jamie lay in bed playing the events of the pub over and over in his head. How they happened to be in the same bar…how Geneva had gotten his phone. It was on the bar, yeah, but…for the life of him he could not remember losing track of it. 

He looked down at the woman wrapped in his robe asleep on his chest. Her wet hair was piled on top of her head in a knot. He turned off the lamp. Adjusting his body, he brought his other arm around to hold her fully. Her eyelids fluttered, and she snuggled in. 

Jamie gently kissed her forehead.

Then, he closed his eyes and worked the situation over again in his mind. 


	5. 3.5:  The First Envelope

The large manila envelope was sitting on his desk at the end of the day. 

No name. No address. No postage. Nothing.

He opened it and slowly drew out the contents.

Claire’s face stared back at him. 

It was a staff picture from Boston Hospital. And a case file naming one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall as a person of interest in the death of one Graham Menzies. The documents were numerous, and confusing. 

It also contained a signed letter of resignation from Dr. Claire Randall of Boston Hospital. 

He shoved the papers back into the envelope with shaking hands, gathered up his things, and left. He could not do this at his desk. He needed privacy. 

And answers.

He found an unused room in a far corner of the precinct. Found the phone number he needed and calculated the time difference. Early afternoon in Boston. 

Things with Claire had smoothed over in the past two days. He would not risk upsetting her again by asking her any questions. He’d get to the bottom of this on his own.

He picked up the phone. It was answered on the third ring.

“Good afternoon,” he said slowly, and clearly. “This is Detective Sergeant James Fraser from New Scotland Yard, in London, the UK. I would like to speak to a Detective on duty, please.”

Hours later Claire woke up to find Jamie still not home. She lifted her mobile phone to check the time. 

12:54 a.m. 

Adso stirred beside her. “I know boy,” she whispered as she scratched behind her pet’s ears, “I don’t know what’s keeping him.”

She checked her phone. He’d texted around 11:30 p.m. 

_Still working. Sleep well. I love you._

Her last thought before drifting back to sleep was to wonder why she hadn’t been called if there had been a homicide. 

After multiple transfers, Jamie finally had the name of the officer who wrote the report. He had to wait until the man came on shift later that night to speak to him. And then needed to wait even later for the Doctor to report for his overnight shift. 

“So,” Jamie said, searching through the document, “as far as I can tell the charge was PAD. What’s that exactly?”

“It means Physician aid in dying,” the American officer said. “Assisted suicide. Euthanasia.”

“Aye. Okay. Do ye remember the circumstances, exactly?” Jamie pulled a large legal pad toward him, pen poised.

“The man was late sixties. Talking to you reminded me, he was a Scottish immigrant. Dr. Randall was his surgeon, she performed his amputation. Cancer in his leg.” 

Jamie scribbled furiously.

“Anyways, the cancer came back about a year later,” the man continued.

“Six months,” Jamie corrected.

“Okay, yeah, six months. Anyways, he had a second surgery scheduled to remove the cancer that metastasized. He was on treatment but his days were numbered, ya know?”

Jamie made a Scottish noise of encouragement. 

“So anyways, the nurse comes in to check on him, and there’s Dr. Randall sitting beside his bed, holding his hand, and the man’s dead.”

Jamie held his breath.

“And according to the nurse there was a vial of morphine and a syringe on the table. She blew the whistle.”

Jamie forced himself to breathe. 

“So,” he cleared his throat, fear of the answer choking him. “She, ummm, the Doctor was found not guilty?”

“Well, Menzies’ daughter went nuts. Wanted an autopsy, the whole nine yards. We investigated. There was no syringe at the scene. The autopsy showed morphine in the system which wasn’t surprising, given that’s how they were making him comfortable and managing his pain. Like I said,” the officer continued, “his days were numbered. We couldn’t make the charge stick.”

“How did Dr. Randall explain her presence at the man’s bedside?” Jamie surprised himself at how professional he sounded.

“She said it’s what she does. We interviewed lots of hospital personnel. I mean, everyone spoke very highly of Dr. Randall. Apparently it wasn’t unusual for her to sit with a patient. Did it all the time. One of her colleagues, a Dr. Joe somebody, he, uh, he vouched for her. A lot of nurses did, too. Even the hospital food service workers said they’d be bringing in trays and Dr. Randall would be sitting there with a patient.”

“Any other suspicious deaths attributed to her while at Boston General?” Jamie had to ask.

“Nah. She was clean.”

Relief flooded through him. But he needed to be thorough. 

“Would ye know how I could get in touch with this,” he flipped through documents trying to find a last name, “this Dr. Joe?”

“So is this why she became an M.E.? Because of this incident?” Jamie asked. 

“In a way. The hospital decided to promote her after the publicity. Make her a department head that would keep her too busy to have patients.” Dr. Abernathy chuckled, “But, Lady Jane would have none of it. So she left on her terms. She was an amazing diagnostician. Medical Examiner was a natural fit. And after everything she just wanted peace and quiet. Dead quiet, she used to say. ” 

“So it wasna because of Frank.” 

Jamie froze. He shouldn’t have said that out loud.

“So, you know.” Dr. Abernathy’s voice hinted at Claire’s secret.

“Aye,” Jamie answered. “I do. She’s a brilliant M.E. Better than any I’ve worked with. Eventually I figured it out.” 

“She got very tired of people asking her how she “knew” things. How she diagnosed with such accuracy. She was going to refuse the promotion, and not let them intimidate her but then she realized it would get her out from under all the questions and speculation. But - how do you know about Frank?” Joe pressed.

“Because she told me,” Jamie said. His tone told Joe everything he needed to know. 

Lady Jane had a man. 

“Well, Frank had a part to play in it, too. The accident came on the heels of the investigation. It just all became too much.” Dr. Abernathy admitted. 

“One last thing, Doctor,” Jamie said. “The vial the nurse saw. What happened to it?”

There was a long pause fraught with tension.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” the doctor responded. 

Jamie sat up. Set down his pen. _So that’s how it was, then. No vial. No needle. Nothing to indicate any foul play. It just….disappeared._

“Thank ye for yer time, Dr. Abernathy,” Jamie said.

“Detective?” Joe wanted to know one last thing. “Is she happy?”

“I believe she is,” Jamie said reassuringly. “At least, I do my best to make sure of it.” 

He shed his clothes and climbed into bed beside her.

She woke up right away.

“What time is it?” Her voice was raspy. Sleepy. 

“3:00.” He snuggled in beside her. She rolled towards him and slipped her leg between his. 

Nothing felt like home more than having Claire intertwine herself with him.

“What kept you so late?” Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to focus on him in the dark. “Why wasn’t I called?”

“Och. Cold case. It can wait ‘til mornin’. Let’s get some sleep, Lady Jane.” He kissed her brow.

“What did you call me?” She struggled to wake up. 

“Nothin’.” Jamie draped an arm around her waist. “Sleep now, Sorcha.” 

“G’night,” she whispered. “Thanks for coming home.”

It was that unguarded moment as sleep tugged her under again, her innermost fear bubbled up to the surface. He knew what she meant by that comment. 

And it broke Jamie’s heart just a little. 


	6. 3.6:  The Second Envelope

It hadn’t been a difficult process. He was careless with his mobile. When he left it on the bar she took a chance. It was a simple enough matter of putting in her number and getting his in return. 

He also left it sitting on his desk all the time. It was so easy to walk by, slip it into her pocket and take it to her desk. There, she downloaded the sophisticated Spyware, and then set it back on his desk under a pile of papers, completely unnoticed.

She’d been monitoring his activity via the tracker for days. Messages sent and received. All incoming and outgoing calls. Where he was. Yet, James’ phone had very little activity outside of work. 

Most of the time his conversations were boring as hell. 

Except with one person. 

Dr. Claire Randall. Those were the texts that made her angry. He was a very different man when he was texting her. Sexy. Loving. Naughty. Thoughtful. 

Irresistible.

She wanted that James for herself. 

Yesterday she’d found him holed up in a private office. Finding the extension and tracing the calls had been so easy. He’d contacted Boston. Geneva smiled when she saw his late night calls. Casting doubt had always been her favourite hobby. 

She checked the tracker. Tonight, his phone showed him at an Italian restaurant, and that made her curious. 

Curious became furious as she sat in her car parked across the street and watched through the plate glass window.

Watched as he reached over to push a long curling tendril behind _her_ ear. Watched as they fed each other bites from their dinner. Watched as he poured her wine and then kissed her after she drank, his tongue darting out to catch a drop of the alcohol. Watched as they laughed, and touched, and talked. Watched as he held her coat, kissed her neck and took her hand as they walked to his car. 

She watched the dot that was James Fraser on her Spyware park in the alley behind Dr. Randall’s house.

_God! How had her murderous actions not caused a row between them?_

* * *

The next morning Jamie found another manila envelope. 

He tucked it under his arm and walked to the same room he used the other night to call Boston.

Opened it slowly. Drew out the black and white photograph.

His temper flared. 

“FUCK!” 

Picking up the metal chair he threw it at the wall. The sound echoed around the room. One of the wheels had left a small depression in the plasterboard.

He picked up the photograph again. Stared at it. 

_Where did this come from? It shouldn’t exist. _

He looked at the picture again. One vial and one syringe. Tagged and bagged.

Claire’s murder weapon.

* * *

“John,” Geneva asked, voice silky smooth, “what do you know about Dr. Randall?”

John looked up from his paperwork, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. “James Fraser says she’s a damn good medical examiner. Swears by her. Why?” 

“You think quite a lot of James, don’t you?” she asked.

If she hadn’t been paying close attention she would have missed it. The softening of the eyes. The wistful look. Then his face changed, and he became professional again. “He’s the best detective I have. And a very good friend. So if he approves of her, then I do, too.”

“If only she was as good with people as she is with cadavers,” Geneva muttered. 

“What does that mean?” John was once again focused on his work.

“Only just that I’ve heard she’s…well….a bit of a….you know…”

He raised an eyebrow at Geneva. 

“Stand-offish. Superior. Rude.” Geneva feigned innocence. 

“Don’t listen to rumors, Geneva.” John said. “However, if it were up to me I wouldn’t have let our last man go. But then, I’m not the Commissioner.” He leveled a long look at the Deputy Commissioner’s daughter. 

Geneva stood up. “Come, John, let’s have a drink. This is what officers do at the end of a long day, do they not? I’ll invite Isobel to join us.”

_Dear, sweet Isobel, _she thought._ John’s Achilles heel. Whatever secrets John has regarding Dr. Randall, Isobel will help him relax enough to let his guard down._

* * *

The next morning Geneva was waiting for Jamie. She was sitting in a chair beside his desk. It was early. Barely any officers had arrived yet and those that had were getting coffee and talking. 

“We needn’t stand on ceremony. I know about John Grey.”

Jamie cast a glance at the girl. Dismissed her.

“I couldn’t figure out why someone like John Grey would spend so much time obsessing over one of his officers,” she continued. “I mean, he was tight-lipped at first, but after a few beers I was able to coax a very interesting story from him.” 

“Ye shouldna have done that.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. 

“My father wouldn’t be at all pleased to know his Chief Inspector had made a pass at one of his officers. I’m pretty sure Daddy would have him stripped of his badge. Maybe even press charges.”

Jamie shook his head. He wasn’t worried about John. Money protected Money. “I’m fairly certain C.I. John Grey and the Deputy Commissioner willna care about yer threats. They’ve better things to do wi’ their time.”

She dropped her second bomb.

“There’s also the matter of a very interesting murder charge against one Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall.”

Jamie’s heartbeat picked up speed. Outwardly, he stayed calm. 

“Ye ken nothing, Ms. Dunsany.” Jamie said through gritted teeth. 

“Goodness,” she feigned shock. “You understand I could have told my father about Dr. Randall? You’re very lucky I have a merciful heart.”

“Right,” Jamie spat, “very fortunate.” 

“As you know, I want to work in homicide, James. Specifically, I want to work with you. But my father forbids it.” Slowly she crossed her legs and stretched out her foot to run the toe of one high heeled pump up his leg. “Now, if I hand him this very interesting case regarding Dr. Randall, it might change his mind. I mean, that’s some very efficient detective work, isn’t it? But you could help change my mind.”

She waited a beat.

“When you come to my bed.”

Jamie looked around quickly to make sure no one had heard. He leaned toward her, “Have ye lost yer mind?” he spat out. “If ye had one to lose?”

“How dare you speak that way to me!” Geneva mirrored his body language, narrowing the distance between them.

“How dare ye speak that way to _me_?” Jamie’s breath was ragged. “A lassie whose father has all that power making indecent proposals to one of his officers.” 

“I’ll be damned if I’ll be stuck in boring cyber crimes all my life.” 

“There are worse departments.” He stayed firm.

“I wonder what would happen to Dr. Randall? Would she go to prison here, or be extradited to America where she committed the crime? At the very least she’d be fired from her job. I must ask my father.”

“Ye filthy wee bitch,” Jamie growled.

“That language suits you…” she paused. “Jamie.” She deliberately used the name Claire called him. 

“Do what ye want about John. But ye leave Cl-… Dr. Randall out of this. She was cleared of all charges.” Let her have John. He’d throw him and more to the wolves for Claire.

“Well, only because they didn’t have a murder weapon. Which….I seem to have found now haven’t I?” 

“And just how did ye find it?” She watched the muscle pulse in his jaw. She was getting to him.

“Made a few calls.” She shrugged delicately.

“To whom? What Station? And how exactly? Did ye ask to speak to the officer on duty in the evidence room? Doesna make any sense.” He picked up the manila envelope. “And they just sent ye a photo like it was no big deal? No. Something’s off.”

“Come to my room,” she annunciated. “Tonight.”

“Yer room?” Now Jamie knew she was being ridiculous. 

Geneva smirked. “Of course, silly. I live at home. You wouldn’t think I’d give up the luxury of that big house to struggle on what they pay me here, do you? Please. Anyway, it’s a suite. More like a small flat. Lots of privacy.” 

Geneva stood and walked away. When she looked back he was sitting at his desk, fists clenched, head down, deep in thought. 

Jamie’s stomach was in knots. 

_Did she honestly expect him to slink into the Deputy Commissioner’s home and into his daughter’s bedroom under his nose? Think, Fraser. Calm down. Get perspective. Work out a plan. How was she getting her information? And from whom? _ _What harm would there be in going to her room? Could ye trust a bitch like that to keep a promise?_

Jamie took a deep, shuddering breath. _ God help me, _he thought.

_I canna seriously be considering this._


	7. 3.7:  Jamie's Visit

Geneva sat on her bed absently turning a lock of her dark hair around her finger.

She was ready. 

She wouldn’t think about the fact that she was “technically” a 22 year old virgin. Oh, she’d had men. Men who had pleasured her with their mouths and their hands, but she’d never let them enter her. 

Once that was gone, she wouldn’t have any bargaining power.

But Jamie. 

Well. Jamie was another matter.

* * *

Jamie checked his watch and texted Geordie. He waited for a response. Satisfied with the man’s answer he stuffed his mobile in his pocket. He owed his friend, big time. 

Standing deep in the shadow of the yard, Jamie could see the glass door was partially open. He could see her inside. Waiting. 

He set his shoulders and with one quick glance around moved silently toward her bedroom.

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open.

“I’m glad you came….Jamie.” Geneva was more than a little surprised though she tried not to show it.

“Didna have a choice, did I? Having brought me to yer bed by means of threats against Claire.” His voice was low and hard. “And dinna call me ‘Jamie’.”

“So what will I call you?” She unfolded her legs and stood up. The lace bra and panties showed off her thin, childish frame. 

Jamie looked her up and down. “Detective Sergeant will do.”

Geneva couldn’t tell what he was thinking. _Did he like what he saw? Did he find her attractive?_ She steeled her nerves.

“You can take your clothes off now.”

Jamie laughed. “Like that is it? No’ much for foreplay, then?” He shook his head. “Should have guessed,” he mumbled.

“What does that mean?” Geneva’s voice cracked. _Dammit._

Jamie unbuttoned his shirt. “Just means that maybe I’m no’ in for such a good time after all. Not as good a time as Claire shows me, anyway.”

Geneva flinched. _Good. That hit home, _he thought.

He shrugged, “We should get on with this, then.” Slowly, he walked towards her. 

He was so tall. So broad. So much older than the boys her age that she was used to. It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. 

She hated herself in that moment. She’d tipped her hand and he knew it. 

Jamie reached out and pushed a strand of her hair back over her shoulder. 

Gently. Tenderly.

“We dinna have to do this,” Jamie said, softly. “Ye can change yer mind if ye want. Ye can go about this another way. I’ll try talkin’ to John. To yer father. And that evidence can go right back into the dark place it came from.”

“No.” _Foolish man_. This wasn’t about her career. This was about getting what she wanted. And she’d wanted James from the first moment she saw him. If she didn’t sleep with him now she’d never have the chance again. 

And she would have him. 

She threw back her head. “Show me how it’s done, Fraser.”

Jamie looked around the bedroom.

“Have ye anything to drink? Whisky? A decent gin?” 

She had to admit that was a good idea. 

Geneva slipped on her robe and walked silently through the large house to her father’s Library. She grabbed the crystal decanter on his sideboard, and two glasses. She stopped by the kitchen for some ice, then headed back to her bedroom.

The noise from inside made her pause. Silently she turned the handle and peeked in. He was going through her things. Searching her bedroom.

_Bastard._

She gently shut the door and then rattled the handle in warning. When she opened it again he was standing right where she’d left him. 

_Lying Bastard. _

She put the glasses down on her desk. 

“I seem to recall you take yours neat.” She raised the bottle to show him.

“Aye. Thanks.”

As she poured Jamie looked around the room. He investigative eyes looked over everything, missing nothing. 

“Cheers,” she said, smiling as she handed him his glass.

“Slàinte,” Jamie mumbled, distracted.

He drank first, swallowing the alcohol in one gulp.

And that was the last thing he remembered.

* * *

A large manila envelope was on Claire’s desk in the morning. 

No name. No address. No postage. Nothing.

She reached down and picked it up. The second her fingers curled around the edge her mind turned dark and cold. 

It’s wasn’t a vision so much as an impression. A forewarning.

One word permeated her senses. 

_Lies. _

Claire staggered backwards, hit her heel against the leg of her chair, and fell unceremoniously into it. She shook her head slightly. Took deep breaths to quell the tremors wracking her body.

Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal and she could think again. 

She opened the envelope and haltingly drew out the contents.

Jamie stared back at her. Well, not at her. He wasn’t looking at the camera at all. He was too busy unbuttoning his shirt. 

Too busy standing too close to a woman in lingerie and touching her long dark hair.

A very young, very beautiful woman.

* * *

Jamie woke up on the floor. The light of a late morning sun hit him full in the face. He sat up slowly.

The first thing he noticed was his shirt was half off. The second was that his pants had been unzipped. The third was that he was in a strange room.

_Geneva._

He scrubbed his face with his hands. _What the hell had happened?_ He had no memory of the night. Nothing.

Feeling dizzy, head pounding, he stood slowly. Put himself together. 

He wanted to tear the place apart. But that wouldn’t be smart. He needed to be smart.

He checked that the doors were locked. Then, he methodically, carefully searched for something, anything that would explain where she had gotten the evidence against Claire. 

He searched every drawer. Under the bed, under the mattress. He went through the bookshelf and checked the back of every piece of furniture. He looked behind pictures on the wall and took apart frames on the desk. 

He made sure everything was replaced just as it was. 

And when he found what he was looking for Jamie grabbed his jacket, opened the garden door quietly. He stepped outside and looked around, then left as quickly as he could. 

He drove straight to the Station. Manilla envelopes held tightly, head down, he marched toward his desk, silently raising a hand acknowledging the greetings from his fellow officers.

Without breaking stride, and burst into John Grey’s office.

“We need to talk,” he said. 

And slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Claire was numb.

Beyond that initial vision, she felt nothing. Could summon nothing, either human or supernatural, to feel. 

She’d laid her hand on his heart and thought she could see the truth. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t trust her sight around him anymore. 

Relationships were messy. They were roller coasters. And Claire hated amusement rides. 

She looked over the span of her Morgue. 

Quiet. Sterile. Orderly. Controlled.

This was the life she craved. The life in which she could function.

Her hands were shaking slightly. She flexed them hoping to stop the trembling.

She looked at her long, thin fingers, and bony knuckles. These were her tools. Her channel of touch. Her medium for healing. For divination. There was a beauty to her hands that she never took the time to appreciate. There was strength in them. 

Competence. Power.

Her hands had held delicate organs, comforted the dying, healed the sick. She’d smoothed brows, greeted friends, administered medicines.

These hands had caressed a man, made love to him, held him, stroked him, raised him to passion. 

She’d held his love in these hands. 

Dammit all to hell, she was not ready to give that up! Didn’t she deserve to have this love? 

The word _lies _continued to swirl around the edge of her consciousness.

She braced herself, opened the envelope again, and drew out the pictures. 

_Fine_, she directed towards the pictures. _You want to talk to me?_

She laid them on her desk, meticulously trying to put them in some semblance of order. 

_Then talk to me. Show me. Where exactly is the lie?_

* * *

Jamie stood outside the morgue and watched her through the small window in the door. His business at the hospital finished, he’d found himself drawn to the basement of the building. Drawn to Claire. 

She was bent over her desk. Pieces of her hair had escaped its knot, and were curling around her face. She was looking closely at a photograph, her hand hovering over it. Looking for something. He could guess the contents of those pictures. Didn’t need to see them to know what they were. He watched as she closed her eyes, looking inward. He prayed she could see the truth.

Tomorrow he would finish this. 

Claire looked up then, straight at him. 

_I can’t,_ she thought._ Not yet. I can’t let you cloud my vision. I can’t let you influence me. I need to find what I find on my own. I need to trust myself again. And if I’m wrong, then l__et me think you’re mine for a little while longer. Let me pretend that you love me for a few more hours. _

He could see the hurt in her eyes. The underlying anger. The mistrust.

She could see the pleading in his eyes. The underlying hope. The anguish.

She shook her head, tears gathering on her lashes. 

_Not yet. I can’t yet. _

She watched as he drew a deep breath and turned from view.

And for the first time in months James Fraser went home to his own flat.


	8. 3.8: The Third Envelope

Jamie couldn’t sleep.

He’d slept like a log for months. But not tonight. Tonight he couldn’t settle. The spot in his arm where they drew his blood at the hospital earlier was tender. And when had his bed become so uncomfortable? His pillow, lumpy? His sheets, scratchy? 

It was none of that, and he knew it.

He missed Claire. Missed her warm and solid beside him. Missed the soft sound of her breathing. Missed the dark slash her hair made against the pillow. Missed the heaviness of her breast in his hand, and the taste of her on his lips. Missed everything she was and everything she made him feel. 

He ached to hear her voice. 

He didn’t care if she didn’t answer. He’d listen to her voicemail greeting and leave a message. _A Dhia_, he’d done that before. 

He dialed.

Claire slept fitfully. She would stretch out her legs reaching to tangle them between Jamie’s strong thighs, but there would be an empty space and cool sheets instead. 

The sound of the phone ringing made her jump.

_Jamie_.

She debated whether or not to pick it up. _What was there to say?_ So much. There was so much she wanted to say, but so much she was afraid to hear.

Jamie counted. 

Five rings later the call was picked up. But she didn’t speak.

“Hey, Adso,” he said. “Is Claire awake?”

He heard her snort.

“No? Well, take a message, aye? Tell her for me that I love her. More than I’ve loved anything before.” He took a deep breath. “And that I tried to handle something without telling her. And that was wrong.” 

He heard her sniff. _Was she crying? God, no, Sorcha. Don’t cry. _

“Tell her that she can trust me,” he begged. 

He heard her inhale a shaky breath. He waited.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” she whispered. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

Jamie let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Graham Menzies happened.” 

Adjusting the pillow behind his back, he sat up, and started talking.

* * *

Geneva was surprised when James showed up at her desk in the morning. She braced herself for his wrath. 

“Ye want to work in homicide? Then ye’ll need to come with me. Let’s see if ye can handle a dead body.” He turned and strode away quickly.

Geneva jumped up, grabbed her coat off the back of her chair, and had to half run to catch up with him. She was full of questions. “Does John know?”

“Geneva,” Jamie said, as he headed towards the main doors of the Station, “ye need to learn to call people by their titles. He’s Chief Inspector Grey, not John. And ye need to address me as Detective Sergeant Fraser.” He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. “And, no. He doesna ken what I’m up to.”

She slipped on her coat and followed him to his car. _Why was he doing this? Why was he being nice to her? Had her plan worked?? _While she’d noticed the late night call that lasted hours, he’d never moved from his flat. She took comfort in the fact that he and Claire had spent the night apart.

“Now,” Jamie said as he put on his seat belt, “when ye work with the Medical Examiner ye canna interrupt her process. It’s best practice to follow up on every piece of information she gives ye because ten times out of ten, she’ll hand ye the case on a silver platter. She’s that good.” 

“We’re going to the morgue?” Geneva voice sounded higher, somewhat panicked, even to her.

“Aye,” Jamie put the car in gear. “It’s easier to see yer first body all cleaned up and on a table. Much harder at a crime scene.” 

Geneva gripped her hands tightly. 

She was about to come face to face with Dr. Claire Randall.

* * *

Geneva looked at the body in the drawer. The stitching made a Y on the torso that was painful to look at. 

“Forensic medicine is really an interesting discipline,” Dr. Randall was saying. “Only by looking under the surface can we really know what happened.” 

She pinned her golden gaze on Geneva. “Things are never what they seem. So much of a crime scene goes unnoticed, so it’s important to scrutinize everything. Do you like puzzles?” Dr. Randall said, smiling. “I like solving puzzles. Especially puzzles regarding identity.” 

Jamie stood back, his eyes on Claire. _So this is why ye told me to bring the lass here. _

Geneva was feeling somewhat uncomfortable. The refrigerated drawer was giving her chills. Or it might have been Dr. Randall’s stare. Geneva had seen a BBC special on tigers once, their yellow irises focused and intense. Dr. Randall had the same piercing look. 

“Take scars, for example.” Claire watched Geneva carefully as she spoke. “Useful in helping identify a body.”

Claire continued, conversationally. “Detective Sergeant Fraser has a scar, from a bullet wound, just here.” Claire pointed to a spot on the cadaver just under his clavicle, in the shoulder. “There’s a small pucker at the front, and a larger, darker scar at the exit site, back here.” She gently lifted the body’s shoulder and pointed. 

“So,” Claire continued, “if a body identified as D.S. Fraser was here on my table, and the scar was missing, I would have to question if the person was, in fact, D.S. Fraser.” 

Claire waited a moment. Walked to her desk. 

She pulled out the manila envelope.

Geneva swallowed.

Claire turned back to the girl, slowly drawing out the pictures. The pictures of Jamie with Geneva.

“On the surface, this is D.S. Fraser having an intimate moment with a woman.” She pulled out the picture of Jamie brushing back Geneva’s hair. 

“And then this one,” she pulled out a picture of Jamie’s naked torso with Geneva’s hand in the centre of his chest, as if she were riding him, “would look like a man having sex with a woman.” 

“However,” Claire pointed to Jamie’s chest. “The scar is missing. I mean, that’s D.S. Fraser’s face, but that’s not _quite_ his body. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Geneva tried to step back but was blocked by the refrigerator drawer. She quickly looked at James for some sort of help.

Jamie just crossed his arms and remained where he was. _Clever, Lady Jane._

Geneva made to push past Claire. No such luck. 

Claire moved fast, and grabbed hold of the girl’s wrist.

_Desire. Jealousy. Insecurity. Envy. Lies. Deceit. Manipulation. _

All of it filled Claire’s brain with perfect pictures of a well planned and executed scheme. The visions moved quickly showing her exactly what happened.

And Geneva’s miscalculation. 

Geneva twisted her arm trying to break the grip.

Claire’s hand was a vise.

“You didn’t take into account how heavy he was, did you? There was no way you could lift him after he lost consciousness. You needed him on your bed. You needed to make it look like you’d had sex. You needed him naked. But you couldn’t tear or cut his clothes or he’d know what you did when he came to. You drugged him, and miscalculated the dosage. When he passed out too soon you weren’t ready.”

Claire dropped Geneva’s arm. Light-headed, she took a moment to regain her composure. _Don’t you bloody well faint_, she begged herself.

Jamie took one step toward Claire. Watched her closely. He knew what these visions cost her.

Geneva rubbed her wrist, raised an amused face toward Claire.

“Please. James was in my bed the other night.”

“No,” Claire spoke firmly. “He wasn’t. Toxicology report confirms high levels of Xanax in his blood stream. He knew you gave him something, so he volunteered to have a sample taken. Did you honestly think he wouldn’t follow through on that?” 

Claire leaned in towards Geneva like a friend who wanted to share a secret. 

“You couldn’t move him enough to get his clothes off, so you had to resort to grainy photographs pulled off a video you’d originally planned to use to blackmail him. You turned to what you know best. Cybergraphics.” 

Claire watched a myriad of emotions pass over Geneva’s features.

“What exactly were you trying to do with these pictures?” Claire asked. “Make me leave Jamie? Expose our relationship? Because Chief Inspector Grey knows we’re together.” 

Geneva’s face became red, and twisted with hate.

Claire’s next words were delivered in a voice turned low and sexy. 

“He’s 6′4″ and 15 stone of pure muscle. Trust me, I know. After he comes he collapses like a man who’s run a marathon. Tough to shift him, really. It’s why I prefer to be on top.”

“Shut up,” Geneva hissed.

“Your photoshopping skills didn’t do him justice. Chest wasn’t wide enough. Abs not defined enough. Too bad you’ll never see how beautiful he is naked. I mean, look at him. Broad shoulders. Tight ass. Lean hips. That’s from all the running he does. Too bad you didn’t get a look at his cock. It’s -”

“I said SHUT UP!” Geneva shouted. 

“We’re done here,” Claire stated. Turning, she dismissed Geneva with a wave of her hand. She stepped to the front of the refrigeration drawer and pushed. 

“Get this lying bitch the hell out of my Morgue.”

* * *

Jamie sat across the conference table from Deputy Commissioner Dunsany, his daughter Geneva, and Chief Inspector John Grey. Beside him was his friend and colleague from Cyber Crimes, Detective Sergeant Geordie MacKenzie. 

“Really, James, it’s your word against hers,” the Deputy Commissioner said, leaning back in his chair.

“With all due respect, Sir, it’s not,” Jamie said, motioning for Geordie to reveal the documents from the file in front of him. Geordie started laying them on the table one by one.

“We’ve got her for Class C drug possession, fabricating evidence, intent to blackmail, intent to extort, not to mention deploying covert cameras in areas where individuals would expect privacy, sharing images with third parties other than for a legal reason…” Jamie paused.

“And rape.” 

“Rape?” Geneva was shocked. “How dare you!”

“Come now, James,” William Dunsany leaned forward, “don’t be ridiculous.”

Jamie looked at John Grey. Waited.

John remained silent. 

“John,” Jamie said. 

John Grey looked pained. “He’s right, Sir. Within the letter of the law, we are looking at one of three charges. Rape, attempted rape or sexual assault. Depends on how far Ms. Dunsany crossed the line.”

“Who’s going to believe my tiny daughter raped a strapping older man?” Dunsany scoffed.

Jamie leaned forward and placed a small pink flash drive on the table between the two parties. 

Geneva paled. “Where did you find that?” 

“Illegal search. You never had a warrant,” William Dunsany said. 

“I was invited in. That gives me the power to gather intelligence on anything I believe to be crime related. And believe me, I wasna there for any other reason than to discover who was digging up a cold case against Dr. Randall to discredit her. When I woke up on the floor the next morning after being drugged I had every right to take anything from the home that I felt could help prosecute Ms. Dunsany later.”

“Not without a report against her.” The Commissioner was getting nervous.

“Which is where Geordie comes in.”

Geordie placed the report Jamie filed on the table. “Even before I walked through those glass doors I confirmed the report was filed with Geordie. Time stamp on the video proves it was registered well before my entrance. That allowed me to do a search and seizure in the event I needed to.”

It was Geordie’s turn to speak. “Earlier today I received a warrant to search Ms. Dunsany’s home and office.” He placed her personal computer on the table. “Interesting digital evidence pulled off here, as well.” 

The Deputy Commissioner looked hard at Jamie.

“What do you want, Fraser?” 

Jamie smiled like a predator who’d just cornered his prey. Geneva remembered another time when his sky blue eyes turned dark and stormy. Another time when his handsome face showed part disgust, part smugness. 

It aroused her then, and it aroused her now. 

“Yer daughter fired. She has no business in law enforcement. And she needs to agree to psychiatric and psychological treatment at Chase Farm Hospital in Enfield.”

“The National Stalking Clinic?” Geneva screeched.

“Shut up, Geneva.” William Dunsany turned back to Jamie. “Done. Anything else?”

“I want a promotion. To Chief Inspector. With the proper pay raise. And my own police station.”

John Grey’s mouth dropped open.

“James, you - you can’t be serious,” John sputtered.

“Dead serious,” Jamie said. He pushed back hard on his chair and stood. “Come on, Geordie. I believe we’re finished here. For now.” 

Shrugging into his coat, James Fraser headed for the front door. He had one more loose end to tie up. 

_Sorcha._


	9. 3.9:  Case Closed

He stood in front of the door with the key in his hand. He turned it over and over in his palm harkening back to the first time he’d used it.

_Taking a deep breath, he slipped the key in the lock. He wasn’t sure how he should play this. In the end he decided Claire would want him to be casual about it. So he turned the key, twisted the knob and pushed it open. He bent down, picked up his overnight bag, and entered. Shutting the door behind him he slid the deadbolt to lock it, then dropped the duffle with a thud. _

_He could hear her in the kitchen. He carefully hung up his coat. Paused. Took off his shoes. That felt weird and he thought about putting them back on again. _

_Uncertain what to do next he lifted his head and there she was. Smiling shyly. She crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. _

_He forgot the shoes. He was too busy falling more in love with the woman who was trying desperately to hide her excitement at seeing him. _

_“You used your key.”_

_“Aye.” He cleared his throat. “So. How was yer day?” he asked. He didn’t know what to do. He jammed his hands in his pockets. Felt the key, as solid and reassuring as her presence in front of him. _

_Then she moved._

_She launched herself down the hallway towards him. Grinning like a fool, he caught her up in his arms as she threw herself upon him, wrapping her legs around his hips, her arms around his neck, and the soul of her around his heart. _

_He was home. _

He was nervous back then, and he was nervous now. 

Taking a deep breath, he slipped the key into the lock. The boxes by his feet reminiscent of that first duffle bag. 

Before he could hang up his coat, she was there. In the same spot she’d stood when he’d first used the key.

The same nervous stance, the same crossing and uncrossing of arms.

“Is it over?” she asked.

“Aye, Claire. It’s over.”

She nodded her head. 

He took off his shoes. Walked down the hallway. 

He jammed his hands in his pockets, unsure whether he could touch her yet. 

“I wanted to protect ye,” he whispered.

“I understand,” she whispered back, amber eyes swimming with unshed tears. “You love me.”

“Aye,” he breathed. “And God willing, ye love me back, still.”

His answer was her long, lingering kiss. Her arms wound around his neck. He ran his hands down her back to cup her bottom and lift. She wound her legs around his hips. The soul of her burrowed even deeper into his heart. 

He was home.

* * *

“You talked to Joe?”

“Aye, Lady Jane. I did.” Jamie grinned as she rolled her eyes. “He seems like a good bloke.”

Claire took a sip of her wine. “He was my best friend in Boston. I wouldn’t have survived it all without him.” She pulled her legs up under her on the sofa. 

“Did he do what I think he did, Claire?” Leaning against the arm rest, his long legs stretched out towards her, he swirled the whisky in his glass. He met her eyes squarely.

“No,” she stated. “He wanted to but I wouldn’t let him. I did it. I used the incinerator.” She didn’t blink.

Jamie took a sip. He would not judge. Claire had enough demons. And a man’s choice was a man’s choice. In Menzies’ place Jamie couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same. 

“Would you really have slept with her?” Claire’s voice was almost convincingly casual. It was her turn to look him in the eye. To face the answer.

“That evidence picture had to be bullshit. So, I went to Geordie. He confirmed it was fake right away. We came up with a plan. First, intimidate her. Be callous about it all. Wound her pride so she’d be too embarrassed to go through with it. If that didna work I was to get her drunk so she wouldna remember the evening clearly. Give me time to search her room. That’s why I asked for alcohol.” Jamie shook his head in self-deprecation. “That backfired, no? Rookie mistake.” 

He paused for a moment, then added, “And I couldna come to ye. Ye being involved in any way would have compromised the investigation.”

“But if all else failed, what would you have done?” She wanted an answer.

Jamie leveled a look at Claire. He owed her nothing but the truth.

“I’d have slept with her to protect ye.”

Claire nodded. She expected that answer. And the guilt that followed. 

“So. Sexual assault.” 

The words hung in the air as the profoundness of his actions hit her.

“Aye. No penetration. So.” He shrugged.

They stared at each other. Eyes locked.

She searched those blue depths. The storm clouds gathered in his eyes as they went from light blue to dark, mirroring his inner thoughts. So many emotions swirled in them. Embarrassment in having to admit what he was subjected to, yet a conviction in his decision to risk it. She saw a faithfulness in his gaze that she had never known. A revelation of the sacrifices he would make.

Had made.

Day after day. Love ad infinitum. Such as she had never known. 

Her heart swelled. Overflowed. 

“When I opened that envelope it knocked me back,” Claire revealed. “I could _feel_ her obsession with you. And so much….jealousy. All I could hear was ‘Lies, lies.’ I forced myself to look at the pictures. To let them speak to me.” She hugged herself for comfort. “I finally found the lie.” 

She reached forward and grabbed a toe. Shook it. “You’re lucky I know your body so well, Fraser.”

“Oh, aye?” He put his glass down on the side table. 

He sat up, reached a long arm toward her. He slipped a hand under her leg and wrapped his long fingers around her calf. He tugged and she unfurled herself. 

He tugged again, and said, “Come. Let me show ye what I’ve learnt about yers.”

* * *

She felt his slow touch down her spine. 

“Tell me again,” she whispered, “and what it means.” 

He rolled on top of her, his naked body covering hers. Curls cascaded over her shoulders. He grabbed a handful of the ebony waves. Rubbed them between his fingers. 

“Mo nighean donn,” he said, his voice low and husky. “My brown-haired lass. When I first saw her sitting there I thought, her hair is such a dull colour brown. Not like yers. Yers is dark in the wavy spots. With wee bits of auburn like the water in a burn that ruffles down the rocks when the light hits it.”

Claire lightly ran her fingers over his biceps. 

Her eyes were golden in the duskiness of the room. “Now it’s my turn. Ye said a few things about my body,” Jamie said offhandedly. “My shoulders, my ass, my hips.”

He flipped onto his back bringing her with him. “What were ye gonna say about my cock?” he asked. 

“There’s really nothing to say about that,” Claire snapped, trying to break his grip and push herself off of him.

“Nothing? Really? I believe ye were telling it, _‘Yes, Oh God, Yes!’_ not an hour ago.” He slapped her arse playfully. 

“Was I?” She feigned innocence. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

He chuckled. Kissed her. Softly. 

“I’m a lucky man,” he whispered. 

She slid off his body so she could lay beside him. 

“I don’t know about that,” Claire said, resting her chin on his chest. 

“I do,” Jamie said. 

“Claire. Come on,” he said, mockingly. “I’m 33 and yer the first real relationship I’ve ever had. Why do ye think that is? I’m a cop. Wi’ a temper. Lots of late nights. Long hours. Gruesome job. I’m told I can be ….. intense. I’m no’ many woman’s cuppa tea. It was lonely. Until I met ye.”

Claire laid a cheek on his shoulder. “It was lonely with Frank. He made me feel isolated. Unsupported. He was never good company, you know? I used to wonder how I could be married but feel so alone.”

Jamie wound a long, black curl around his finger. 

His smile was crooked. “Life’s not like the love songs, is it? We’re all a little broken, Sorcha. All we can do is try to find the one person who doesna mind all the pieces we’re in.”

A lone tear tracked it’s way down Claire’s cheek. Jamie brushed it away with his thumb. 

“When things are good, I wait for something bad to happen. It’s like saying, ‘I love walking in the rain, but not enough to go without an umbrella. Or to run inside when it starts sprinkling.’” Claire pushed herself up to look at Jamie fully. “That’s why I’m scared when you say you love me. Because I keep thinking pain isn’t too far behind.”

“I understand that. But that was yer old life. We’ve something different. At the end of every day I hope you realize I would do anything for ye. Anything. Including using my body for your protection.” 

They lay in silence for a while. Claire absorbing Jamie’s words. 

“Why did you ask for your own Station?” 

“Och. I need to get away from John. He’s a good cop, and deserves to be respected in the job. Me being around stirs up the rumors and the gossip every time someone new comes along. Distance will do us both good.” 

“Protection. Again.” She squeezed his middle.

“Aye. If ye like.” He rubbed her shoulder. 

Claire sat up. Straddled Jamie. 

“Oh,” he laughed. “Ready to talk about my cock now?”

Claire reached over and opened her night table drawer. She straightened slowly, a set of handcuffs dangling from her index finger. 

“I think I’ve had enough conversation for the moment….”

* * *

Claire was surprised to see Jamie coming down the stairs in his sweat pants and a tee shirt. 

“Aren’t you working today?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“No. Figured I’d give the brass a day to sort out where they’re going to send me. Besides, I deserve a day.” He stopped on the bottom step and stared at the cardboard in the foyer.

“What’s with the boxes?” Claire gestured with her mug. 

“The last of my stuff from my flat. I’m officially moved in.”

Jamie caught her shy smile before Claire turned away to head to the kitchen.

Claire took one last sip of her coffee, and set the cup down on the counter. “See you later, then?” She slipped on her coat.

When she looked up again he was standing there, palm outstretched, arm extended.

Her heart stopped.

Then pounded double time.

She looked at him. God, he was so confident. Emotion swelled, but she controlled it.

She reached out and took what he offered.

So shiny. So new. 

He nodded, and reached for it. It slipped easily onto her finger.

She couldn’t help the grin that split her face. 

“You love me.”

“Hush.” He blushed red to the tips of his ears. “It’s no’ all that fancy. But it seemed to suit ye. And I made certain the diamonds were flush wi’ the band so ye could wear it to work. So it wouldna rip yer gloves.”

“You love me,” she said again, wrapping her arms around him.

He set his arms loosely around her waist.

“Don’t be smug. Ye love me, too.”

He kissed her then. 

A kiss filled with promise.

“So. Will ye have me?” he whispered against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

## CASE CLOSED


End file.
